


Shattered Like a Stone

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also irresponsible anal sex, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assisted Suicide, At Least Not Without Going for Stitches Later, Bi-sexual OFC, Biting, Black Eyes, Bloodplay, But it's not like he's never called a woman a bitch on the show, But lbr I would take anything Dean Winchester wanted to put inside me, Choking, Come Marking, Consensual Snuff, Dark Dean Winchester, Definitely Do Not Reopen the Bandage and Suck On It More, Demon Dean Winchester, Dom Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, I might have an object insertion kink, I told yall she has a death wish, Irresponsible BDSM Practices, Jameson as foreplay, Jameson as lube, Knifeplay, Mark of Cain, Marking, Masochism, No Discussion of Safe Word, OFC has a death wish, Object Insertion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Painplay, Please Don't Ever Bite or Be Bitten to Break the Skin, References Mental Illness, References to attempted suicide, Risky Sexual Behavior, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Strangulation, Subspace, The First Blade, This Is Not Your Mother's Dean Winchester, Top Dean, Topspace, Unsafe Sex, Violent Sex, and he's a demon, dean's a demon, slight daddy kink, slightly misogynist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-05 23:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14628840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: The Mark is demanding and the demon in Dean won't deny it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

_My dear_

_I'll give you sixty seconds to disappear_

  
_And if you don't get out of here_

  
_Who knows?_

  
_Cuz I've been trying to find out if an angel bends or breaks_

  
_Or shatters like a stone_

 

"[I Want To Destroy Something Beautiful](https://youtu.be/Bg5KT3M_FJk)" is a decade-old song by Josh Woodward that haunts me to this day.

 

##

 

It’s a warm summer night and she can feel the familiar crackle and buzz that always gets her into trouble just under her skin. She knows that tomorrow she’ll wake up with one or all of the following: a massive hangover, a stranger in her bed, bruises and all new aches and pains, another arrest on her record. The feeling jazzes her all the way up.

 

She walks into the open-air club with no question that all eyes are on her. She looks fucking damn good – she always does, but that crackle and that buzz embolden her beyond reason. She feels preternatural and she’s hyper-focused on one thing – pleasure.

 

“Absolut, dirty, two olives,” she tells the bartender and he sets about making her martini.

 

She surveys the room – people on the dancefloor, couples huddled together deep in conversation, and the lonely hearts bellied up to the bar. Then she sees him. He’s watching her, not subtly, and his powerful gaze kicks her buzz up a notch. He’s beautiful – perfect looking, really – almost too pretty, but there’s an edge to him, and it makes her giddy. She holds his eyes as he takes a sip of the brown liquor in his glass.

 

“The gentleman at the end of the bar got your drink, miss,” the bartender says. She nods, accepting the cocktail, then raises her glass to the divine stranger before taking a seat. She sips her cocktail and waits.

 

It isn’t long before he joins her.

 

“You look like fun,” he says, settling on a stool beside her, keeping his eyes on her.

 

She swirls her olives in the briny liquid, savoring the rumble of his voice and his scent. Up close, he’s even better looking, if that were possible. His hair and his lips look so soft, her heart almost breaks. Because that slice of darkness in his silver-mossy eyes tells her that there isn’t anything soft about this man.

 

“So do you,” she returns, licking her lips while narrowing her eyes at his. He huffs a laugh and grins wide and bright, and she’s given a small glimpse of just how good this is all going to hurt.

 

His eyes scan her soft face, devouring her full, red lips and drilling her soft brown eyes. She grins and a dimple winks at him, and he’s done. He downs his drink then fixes his eyes back on her.

 

“You need another one of those?” he asks and she shakes her head. “Good,” he says. “Slam it and let’s go.”

 

 

She tries to drag him to the bathroom or the alley, but he isn’t having it. “Oh, hell, no,” he looks her up and down, her short, white dress teasing his imagination. He grips her wrist so tight it hurts. He’s incredibly strong. “I’m fucking you good and long and not in a cramped public bathroom.” He yanks her along and she twists her arm for some kind of reprieve. At once, the crush of his fingers around her delicate bones exhilarates and terrifies her.

 

They reach a shiny, black classic car and it’s almost cliché. This car is sex on wheels and obviously the only thing this man would drive.

 

He turns to her, slightly loosening his grip on her wrist. “I’m gagging you till we get to the motel.” She has about two seconds to process what he’s said before he shoves a wad of cloth in her mouth, snaps his fingers and her hands are suddenly bound in front of her, and pushes her into the backseat.

 

She only had one drink, so she knows she wasn’t imagining that he bound her wrist with a simple snap of his fingers. This night would not leave her unchanged. She’s never been this turned on, which is saying a fucking lot, and she can still smell him – leather and metal and something vaguely sweet.

 

He parks the car, turns it off, and gets out. When he comes for her, he moves into the back seat. “Shh,” he whispers in her ear, nuzzling and breathing hot against her. “Don’t disappoint me.” He pulls the gag from her mouth then waits a beat before kissing her lips. He pushes his hand up into her hair and pulls and all she can think about is him doing this until she dies. The ache in her skull and the rumbling sounds he’s making are the stuff of magic.

 

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “I’ll do whatever you want,” she says. “And nothing you don’t.”

 

He examines her face and decides that what she’s said is no lie. He grins wide. “Gonna be my good girl?” he asks, propping her chin in his fingers. She nods and her entire being is on fire.

 

She’s dominated men and she’s dominated women. She’s had vanilla sex and she’s had sex that was decidedly uncommon. But she has a distinct feeling that after handing the reins over to this magnificent, dangerous man, nothing will ever be the same.

 

He leads her out of the back of the car, slamming the door behind them. Her wrists are still tied when they reach the door. He opens it and escorts her inside the room, closing and locking the door, before crossing the room with self-assured strides of his long legs.

 

As he moves to the bedside table to click the soft light to life, she glances around the cheap motel room. There’s a duffle bag on the far bed and she catches a glimpse of sharp, gleaming steel, some red rope, not unlike the swath that binds her wrists, and a sawed-off shotgun.

 

Her eyes land on his flawless face, holding his bewitching eyes with her own. He crosses the room again until he’s towering over her and untying her wrists. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, dropping the rope to the floor and massaging her wrists.

 

“Annabel,” she answers. She never tells the men and women she hooks up with her real name, but she finds that she can’t lie to him.

 

He nods, lifting her wrists to his lips, watching her closely as he presses those soft, full lips to her skin. “Annabel, I’m Dean.” His lips move over the insides of her long-scarred wrists and he stops, his eyes flicking to meet hers again. He gently caresses the marks with his thumbs. “I’m gonna make you feel better, Annabel.”

 

She shivers. “I know you will,” she says, her voice smoky and raw.

 

Dean dips his head to kiss her long and slow, pushing his tongue inside her mouth, holding her face in his hands. He’s so warm and she’s never been kissed quite so thoroughly.

 

“Can I touch you?” she asks and he smiles against her mouth. She’s a really good girl.

 

“Yes, Annabel,” he says, his hands beginning to wander over her shoulders, fingering her dark silken hair. Her eyes are like warm caramel; thick, dark lashes, framing them prettily. Her hands are small and warm on his skin when she slides them up under his shirt. She marvels at the smoothness of his skin and the coil of muscle underneath.

 

“You’re stunning,” she whispers. He smirks and starts to unbutton his shirt before shucking it to the floor. She pushes the t-shirt up and he pulls it the rest of the way off, dropping it to join his button down. Her hands are everywhere at once, tracing his tattoo, grazing his nipples, skimming around to feel his back.

 

He walks backward, bringing her with him, so he can sit on the foot of the bed. He pulls her onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips and his hands slide up underneath her dress, the tassels at the hem tickling his wrists. She grinds into him, feeling how hard he is, and she sighs.

 

Dean pushes the dress up and off her and takes in the sight of her, desperate and trusting in wet, breathy pile in his lap. She’s still running her hands all over him and she can’t stop staring. “Annabel,” he commands her attention. Her eyes meet his and the shining onyx of her pupils has dominated her irises. “Do you wanna come?” he asks, knowing exactly what he wants to hear.

 

Annabel’s eyes drop to his mouth and she swallows. “Only if you want me to,” she answers. Her naturally husky voice is barely more than a rasp and he wants to fuck the breath out of her.

 

He grins again, tracing a finger over the satin covering her wetness. “Good answer, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a little more intentionally against her sex. “And I do. I want you to come right here.” He slips a finger inside the leg opening of her panties, knuckling her wet lips. “We’ve got all night, Annabel. The things I’m gonna do to you...” He licks his lips and slips another finger in with the first, and it’s all she can do not to grind into him, but she knows her place.

 

“You can ride my hand,” he says, encouragingly, his voice deep but soft. “I know you want to.” She doesn’t wait before throwing her arms around his neck and bucking into his knuckles. He flicks his wrist and pushes a finger inside her, palming her entirely, the heel of his hand pressing against her clit. Then he slips another finger insider her, and a third. Her panties are straining against his wrist as hard as he is on his jeans.

 

“Such a good girl, Annabel,” he breathes and watches her undulate, gasping and clamping around his wet fingers. “You’re just like a bitch in heat for me, aren’t you?” The wet sounds coming from where she’s fucking herself on his hand are gorgeously obscene.

 

“Dean,” she whispers when she comes, head thrown back in ecstasy. The smooth, beautiful column of her throat arches, bared to him, and he looks forward to ruining it.

 

Dean moves her from his lap to the bed as she comes down. He pulls her wet panties from her trembling hips and down her smooth, strong legs. Her heeled sandals glint silver in the low light of the room and her chest is heaving, her breasts spilling over the cups of her sheer, shimmering bra. Dean unbuckles his belt with one hand and slowly pulls it from the loops, never taking his eyes off her.

 

“Move up,” he tells her and she obeys without hesitation. Dean makes his way around to the side of the bed and binds her wrists with the belt then secures the belt to the headboard. He turns, then, and rummages through his bag. When he faces her again, he’s holding a large, nasty looking knife. She thinks it looks like it has teeth.

 

Dean sighs, looking her over and using the flat of the blade to trace invisible patterns on her skin. Then she notices it – he has a mark on the inside of his forearm and it’s literally glowing. Her eyes meet his and he blinks away green to black.

 

Annabel forgets to breathe. “Shit,” she says, instinctually pulling at the belt and squirming under his gaze.

 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Dean scolds, blinking the green back in his eyes. “What happened to you doing whatever I want and nothing I don’t?” His pursed lips and hooded eyes are just this side of cruel and she presses her legs together, willing her breath back into her lungs. She closes her eyes then opens them again and his tongue teases her from behind his teeth.

 

He really is unearthly in his beauty and the power she sensed from all the way across the bar radiates from him like fallout from a neutron bomb. She’s drunk with it.

 

Dean flips the knife in his hand like a drumstick and moves the hilt to where she’s unbearably wet and throbbing. He presses the butt of the hilt to her clit then slides it down and just barely inside as he climbs between her legs, pushing them wide with denim-clad knees. “I’m gonna fuck your cunt with the most dangerous weapon on the planet.” He licks his lips and catches his bottom lip with his teeth. “You ready for that?”

 

Annabel huffs on a strangled sob and nods, lifting her hips ever so slightly. Dean slides the hilt inside her and twists until she shouts. “Ah! Oh, god…”

 

Dean chuckles. “The other end of this blade’s been buried in the guts of demons and angels,” he tells her as he lazily pushes the hilt in and pulls it back out. She writhes and kicks. “Shoulda seen the last bitch I had on it. She screamed so loud,” Dean shakes his head, reminiscing over Abaddon’s bloody death at the hands of his former self. “Fuck.”

 

He arches his wrist, rubbing the hilt against the spot inside her that he knows will make her scream. He groans when she does and opens his pants with his free hand, pulling his hard cock free, twisting and pumping it.

 

Dean presses a finger over her clit as the hilt of the First Blade fucks in and out of her. The mark is on fire and _Jesus, why didn’t he think of this before?_

 

“This mark, and this blade,” he speaks, his voice becoming hoarse. “Crave violence, blood, murder.” Annabel moans and Dean continues. “I crave it. But I never knew,” he gasps, his orgasm fast approaching. “I didn’t know it wanted to fuck.” He huffs with laughter.

 

Annabel cries out as she comes and Dean growls like a beast, spilling his cum over his fist and onto her bare belly. He drops forward, bracing himself with his sticky hand beside her overly stretched arms. He kisses her as he pulls the hilt from inside her then tosses the blade aside.

 

Dean’s on all fours, keeping her spread open with his knees, kissing her utterly without urgency. Annabel moans into his mouth. “That was,” she mutters.

 

“Oh, sweetie,” he whispers against her neck. “We’re just gettin’ started.” He licks and nips at her skin. “You haven’t even taken my cock yet.” He scrapes his teeth over her collarbone and she groans. “And you haven’t bled for me.”

 

Suddenly, Dean sinks his teeth into the juncture between her neck and shoulder, breaking the skin and she screams, arching under him. The taste of grass and dirty pennies fills his mouth and he draws it in, runs his tongue over her ruined skin, sucks it back into his mouth and hums.

 

“Dean,” she breathes and whimpers, another orgasm rolling through her. “Dean, please.” She’s begging him not to stop.

 

He keeps licking and sucking at the wound he’s inflicted as he pushes his newly hardened cock inside her, chafing the insides of her thighs with the rough denim of his jeans. He can feel her trembling inside and chuckles, knowing that she must’ve come from his bite. He laves the spot over and over with his tongue, gathering more of her blood and she shakes underneath him.

 

Dean pushes into her hard, coming to kneel and reaching for the blade again. He slides it under the front of her bra, right at her breastbone, and quickly slices the fabric. Her breasts bounce free and he traces her nipples with the tip of the knife, watching the pretty pink turn dark and puckered. He slams into her repeatedly, hugging one knee to his hip and leaving behind light pink trails on her chest and belly, not pressing hard enough to break skin.

 

She’s sobbing, neck open and trickling blood, arms tied over her head, and a demon in her cunt. Her body jolts with his violence. She’s going to come again.

 

Dean drops the knife and grips the wooden headboard for more leverage – as if he isn’t already railing into her like no human should be able to endure. The Mark just might get everything it wants tonight.

 

He feels her frantically tighten around him, coming so forcefully that he can’t hold on any longer. She’s sobb and he’s snarling as the sound of wood splintering fills the room.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not canon Dean Winchester and I do not claim this story to be either.
> 
> Also, I do not own SPN or Dean Winchester; Dean Winchester owns me.
> 
> Peace.

 

_I want love to, roll me over slowly_

_Stick a knife inside me, and twist it all around_

_I want love to, walk right up and bite me_

_Grab a hold of me and fight me leave me dying on the ground_

 

[Love Interruption](https://youtu.be/iErNRBTPbEc) by Jack White was on heavy rotation during the writing of this chapter.

 

 

##

 

Annabel awakens to the soft sound of running water. She’s groggy and incredibly thirsty. It takes a few moments for her to blink away the haze and she starts to remember where she is and slivers of detail – a knife, a demon, and pain so good she blacked out.

 

She rolls under the covers and realizes she’s no longer bound and she’s in the bed furthest from the door. When she glances at the other bed, she sees that it’s littered with wood particles and the sheets are painted with blood. Her hand flies to her neck and she feels a fresh bandage.

 

“There you are.” She hears his low rumble of a voice as he comes into view in the darkened room. Only the moonlight shines in through the windows and it casts a blue glow over the demon’s face and bare chest. His jeans have been zipped, but not buttoned and her heart starts to pound in her chest.

 

“Relax,” he says, climbing up from the bottom of the bed and sliding next to her on top of the covers, helping her to a sitting position. “Drink this.” He cracks the cap off of a bottle of water and hands it to her.

 

Annabel obeys, at first taking small sips until her throat relaxes and opens enough for her to gulp it down the way she needs to. He watches her finish off the bottle with something like delight coloring his face. When she’s done, he takes the empty bottle and sets it aside.

 

“How d’you feel?” Dean asks, fluffing the pillows behind her.

 

Annabel searches his face for intention. “Tired. Sore,” she answers and he nods, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

 

“Not too tired, I hope,” he mutters, running his knuckles down her arm in the gentlest way.

 

She shakes her head. “Never too tired for you,” she breathes, willing her heart to slow.

 

He smirks. “Always with the right answers,” he says, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and standing to cross the room.

 

“May I use the restroom?” she asks.

 

Dean leisurely turns and rakes his eyes over her still form. His face splits into an angelic grin and it chills her to the bone. “Yes, Annabel,” he rumbles, and there’s a dark twinkle in his eye.

 

He watches her move from the bed, gingerly uncovering all that gorgeous skin. “Take a shower while you’re in there,” Dean tells her and she nods. “Just don’t get your bandage wet.” She halts, shooting him a wary look. He shakes his head. “I won’t be mad, just not good for the wound.” She exhales and nods before crossing into the bathroom and closing the door behind he.

 

He’s so fucking high ofives the effect he has on her. She’s utter perfection, her beauty, her body, her reactions – both emotional and physical. It’s like she was made to be his. He tries to imagine something that she wouldn’t do and he can’t, which blows his mind in the best way. He can do anything to her.

 

While she’s in the shower, Dean strips the ruined bed, wrapping the pieces of headboard in the dirty sheets and blankets and shoving them into a heavy plastic garbage bag. He takes the bag out to his car and tosses it in the back seat then returns to their room, locking the door behind him.

 

Moments later, Annabel exits the bathroom wrapped in a towel, hair damp and wavy. She looks even more beautiful to him and he wants to see anguish twist her lush features. He licks his lips and bites his bottom lip. She’s standing still, waiting for instruction and he is so hard in his pants because of it. “You look pretty,” he says, approaching her and cupping her jaw in his hand.

 

Annabel smiles and drops her gaze to the floor and he groans.

 

Dean caresses her cheek then reaches out with his other hand and gently pulls the towel from her body, letting it hit the floor. He kisses her slow but deep, fervent. She sighs and moans and makes all the sounds that spur him on. She’s delicate but strong and she wants to be destroyed as badly as he wants to do it. He wants to tear her down and build her back up again, just to watch her suffer in ecstasy.

 

He pulls away from her and she makes a sound of disappointment. He pushes her wet hair over her shoulder. “Sit on the edge of the bed for me.” She does as she’s told and he smiles, crossing the room to the small table by the door, where there are several empty beer bottles, a half full bottle of Jameson, and his Colt. He weighs his options and makes his decision then returns to her.

 

“Remember when I told you that we were just gettin’ started?” he asks, settling on his haunches in front of her, holding her eyes, and she nods. He unscrews the cap and tips the bottle to take a sip. “Open your legs,” he says, and she does. He smoothes a hand up one bare thigh and runs the bottle up the inside of the other and she moans. “Rest back on your forearms and scoot my pretty cunt to the edge,” he encourages her.

 

As she obeys, she feels cool glass connect with her hot center and she gasps, opening her legs wider. “That’s right,” he rumbles. “You know what Daddy likes to see. Do it for me.” And she raises her hips from the edge of the bed, rubbing her slick along the bottleneck.

 

Dean makes a sound like an animal and the sound makes her gush. For a brief moment he takes the bottle way, lavishing the neck with his tongue before taking another long pull. Then he’s trickling whiskey, wet over her open cunt. She gasps as it splashes over her sensitive, distended clit. When she feels his warm mouth latch over her, the temperature contrast makes her hiss. Then he slips his hot tongue inside her, sucking and fucking her, his middle finger joining his tongue.

 

He’s humming with the taste of her and the whiskey on his tongue. He fucks into her with deliberation then adds a second finger. When she throws her legs over his shoulders and pulls, he rises to his knees, bearing down on her hard, hugging her thigh with one arm, pressing her clit.

 

Before she knows it, Dean’s replaced his tongue and fingers with the whiskey bottle. As he moves to lick and suck and press her clit, he steadily pushes the bottle inside her as far it will go, bouncing it against her wall a couple of times before twisting and pulling out. “Look at me, Annabel,” he commands, his eyes go from moss to onyx, drilling her in place, and when he slams back in, she shatters into a million pieces.

 

Dean laps at her opening as he pulls the bottle from her body, settles her to the mattress, kissing and caressing her. He looks down at her limp and breathless form as he takes another sip from the bottle, licking the rim. “Sit up,” he instructs. She does as she’s told, slowly sitting upright and situating herself so she’s not balanced precariously on the edge. “Have some.” He offers her the bottle and her eyes light.

 

She licks her lips before touching them to the bottle, her nostrils flare, taking in the scent of herself mixed with whiskey and she closes her eyes on a moan, sipping from the bottle like she’s told. Dean palms his dick over his jeans as he watches her throat bob, swallowing whiskey and herself. She opens her eyes, waiting. He reaches for the bottle and she relinquishes it to him.

 

“Get some pillows and lay across the bed. On your back, pillows under your shoulder.” He walks around the side to set the bottle, now almost completely empty, on the nightstand. As she settles into the pillows, Dean rids himself of his jeans and her eyes dart to his hard length, prominent and proud.

 

“I’m gonna fuck your throat, Annabel.” She moans and grips the covers at her sides, rubbing her legs together. “And anything else want.” He climbs onto the bed, throws a leg over her and backs onto her face, staying on all fours himself.

 

His balls brush her lips and she tentatively licks him, waiting for his command. “That’s good, lick.” So she does. She gently places her hands against the backs of his thick thighs before slowly licking his sack, swirling her tongue around, savoring the tang. He really tastes like whiskey and smells like leather everywhere. Dean hums. “Stroke my cock while you lick me.” She does.

 

She’s never had anything quite this pretty, quite this thick, quite this smooth in her grip. She lightly strokes him dry and he tells her to do it harder. “Don’t be shy, Annabel,” he chides. “I know you can give as good as you get.”

 

She grips him harder and strokes and he hisses. “That’s right,” he moans and drops kisses to the insides of her thighs, licks alongside her outer lips, breathing against her and she squirms.

 

Dean backs up further. “Open your mouth,” he breathes, and she does. “Use your teeth.” He sinks into her wet warmth and her hands go to his thighs again, holding on for the ride. It doesn’t take him long to push down her throat and when he does, she can’t breathe. She taps his leg, but he just grinds into her and moans. She taps again, a bit more insistent and he pulls out enough for her to pull air in through her nose.

 

“Annabel, this’ll be a good lesson for you,” he pushes all the way down her throat again and she gags. “You’ll thank me later.” He sets a rhythm and she’s able to time her gasps for air. She’s scrambling to do the right things, to please him.

 

“I said use your teeth,” he grunts. “And swallow, Annabel. I don’t wanna see a drop.”

 

She’s helpless, pinned by his thrusts and his hands on her thighs. Then his mouth is on her and she can’t breathe again. She whimpers around him. “Fuck, yes,” he groans, licking her. Then he pushes her thighs open farther and behind him. Her feet are hooked over the back of his shoulders as he works.

 

He wants her spread completely open to him. He pulls at her lips and asscheeks with his fingers and licks her from her clit to asshole. She gags and grunts around his brutal thrusts into her mouth and throat as he pushes his tongue inside her in time with those thrust. Then he grabs for the bottle.

 

He pours whiskey over her again and drinks it down, then again, then downs the rest of the bottle and presses the glass against the tight ring of her ass. He circles her clit with his tongue and pushes two fingers inside, rimming her with the whiskey bottle, a few drops of liquor still dribble onto her, helping him work inside.

 

“Annabel,” he rumbles above her. “When I come, I want you to come with me.” He presses forward with the bottle, slowing his cock in her throat. He spits on the bottleneck and watches it drip, working its way inside her ass as he twists the bottle and his fingers.

 

She nods and he can feel her eagerness. It makes him grin and he sets back at her clit and resumes his pace in her throat, curling a third finger inside her cunt. “You’re so full of me, Annabel. Ready?”

 

The sensation of the cool glass and the way Dean’s wielding it, his warm tongue on her clit, his thick fingers stretching her cunt, and his cock invading her throat has her flying apart and gone, gone, gone before she can even reply with a nod. Somehow, she has the presence of mind – or gut instinct? – to swallow when he spurts hot and thick down her throat.

 

Dean pulls out of her mouth and climbs off of her. She can see that he’s still hard and thinks it must be the demon side effects. She’s exhausted, though, so when he rolls her to her stomach and pushes pillows under her hips she moans.

 

“Shh,” he soothes her with his hands and his words. “Just relax for me.” She hears a click of a cap opening and then cool liquid on her ass. He pushes her open and climbs between her legs, spreading her more, slicking a hand up between her cheeks and sliding a finger inside her ass. He twists gently and she writhes under him.

 

Dean takes his time, massaging her hips and thighs and ass as he stretches her for his entry. Once he’s pushing three fingers in and out, she sighs and bucks back into his hand and he chuckles. “Want more?” He slicks up his cock with the lube and tosses it aside, removes his fingers then starts to teases her, rubbing his head up and down. “Yeah, you want more.” She nods and squirms and he laughs, pressing a hand at the small of her back, massaging as he pushes inside her.

 

She loves the sting in the stretch and her whole body breaks out in sweat and goose flesh. He pulls back and pushes in with small increments from where he’s settled behind her. Annabel doesn’t know what to do with her hands, but she wants to touch herself.

 

Dean sees her flailing hands. “What is it, sweetheart?” He keeps pumping into her and she whines.

 

“I want- ” she stutters.

 

“C’mere,” Dean pulls her up, so she’s on her haunches in front of him. He moves in to curl around her back, his thighs on either side of her hips, so she’s tighter and he groans. He slides a hand between her legs and cups one of her breasts, pulling at the nipple and she anchors herself on his forearm and rides him.

 

Dean uses his teeth to tear her bandage away, to lap at her wound and she gushes into his hand and on his fingers.

 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers before sealing is lips over her ruined flesh and sucking hard. In moments she’s clamping around his fingers and there are tears streaming down her cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we get off, folks, and where things get dark. Thanks for sticking with me and for the Kudos. xox

_I want God to come and take me home_ _  
_ _'Cause I'm all alone in this crowd_   


_To be vulnerable is needed most of all_ _  
_ _If you intend to truly fall apart_

 

[The Vampyre of Time and Memory](https://youtu.be/AEIVlYegHx8) by Queens of the Stone Age is one of the most beautiful songs of despair and longing I’ve ever known. 

##

 

Never in her short, hollow existence has she wanted anything as much as she wants Dean – all of him inside and around her. She wants him to own her, love her, fuck her, and demolish her world. He’s everything at once and it’s the perfect way to go, by his hand.

 

“Dean,” she whispers, coming violently around his fingers, his cock buried deep in her ass as he sucks the life out of her. Her blood is better than anything he’s ever tasted because it’s hers and she willingly gives him everything he wants. He can feel her begin to break apart in his arms and he stops.

 

She’s limp but she’s still breathing, however shallow. He’s not sure he wants this to end yet, or at all. He’s torn. “I’ve become rather attached to you, Annabel,” he sighs as he withdraws from her body and gently lays her back to the mattress.

 

She makes a small grunting sound of disapproval and he chuckles. “My sweet girl,” he whispers as he brushes her hair away from her face so he can take her in – pale skin and shadows beneath her glazed honey eyes as she blinks them open, squinting at the dim light.

 

“Why’d you stop?” she slurs, barely above a whisper, unable to breathe volume into her voice. She reaches for him and he graces her with his warm embrace, burrowing in behind her and wrapping his arms around her.

 

“I’m not ready to say goodbye,” he answers, brushing his lips over her shoulder, his hands wandering her body. “We still have a few hours till daylight.” He kisses her neck. “Any requests?”

 

“Tell me I’m yours,” she rasps, weakly grasping his forearm with both hands. Her desperation is palpable and euphoric. It makes him hard to know what she really longs for and that he can and will give it to her.

 

“You’re mine,” he rumbles, sliding his leg over hers, trapping her the way she wants. He doesn’t want to let her go, not really, but he made her a promise.

 

“Tell me you love me,” she pleads with tears in her voice and her eyes. Her submission, right from the start was the kind of rush he never knew he needed; but now, it’s beyond divine.

 

“You know that I love you, Annabel,” he answers with a smile and a nip to her thin, smooth skin. “You’re perfection. You were made for me, for _this_.”

 

She nods and he revels in her tears on his skin. “Please make it stop,” she sobs quietly. “I can’t go back, not now, not after you-”

 

He shushes her and rocks her. “I know. I will, baby,” he promises again, rolling her to her back and sliding between her legs.

 

For a long time, he just kisses her – mouth and neck and breasts, slow and warm. He’s propped up on his forearms and his hands are in her hair. After a while, he pushes inside her one last time.

 

“Remember, I told you I was gonna make you feel better,” he says, nuzzling into her neck, slowly pushing in and pulling out of her warm, clenching heat. She lies almost completely still, breathing heavily, legs spread wide, taking him inch-by-inch and second by second, savoring him. She nods slightly. “I meant that, sweetheart. I’ll make it all go away and you’ll come like you never have before and never will again.”

 

Annabel shudders beneath him, raising her knees just enough to let him in deeper, running her weak hands up his arms and down his chest. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I love you.”

 

“I know, baby,” he kisses her again. He draws this one out longer than the others. What he’s doing would be considered tender lovemaking to the untrained eye. Annabel feels every stroke of his cock, tongue, and fingers in her soul. Her heart is cracking open and she doesn’t even try to control it.

 

As he fucks into her slow and sweet he asks, “How do you want it, Annabel?” He wants to know how she wants to die. He hopes for something poetic and romantic – something beautiful to honor the corpse he’ll leave behind. “Tell me and I’ll do it. Whatever you want.”

 

“I want-” she gasps and sighs. “I wanna watch you do it, wanna feel it.” She says. That’s all she knows and she doesn’t care how it’s done. She wants to be utterly at his mercy and connected in a way that she’s never been with anyone. She thinks the link a person has with her murderer is a rare and beautiful thing – just like her demon.

 

Dean swivels his hips and changes his angle again, a small, almost sad smile plays on his lips and in his eyes as he gazes down at her, pushing up to his hands. After a few moments he makes his decision then his big, rough hand wraps around her throat and she moans, eyes closing and opening slowly. She clenches around him tightly, instantly and he pushes in harder with each thrust.

 

She gasps, her body’s instinct to losing air and she rests her hands on the wrist and forearm connected to the hand that’s slowly cutting off her air supply. Every feeling narrows to pins of light, scattered, fading in and out and back again. His cock hammering in and out of her is a singular sensation of death and sex and love and desperation and horror and pain and _life_ – everything she’s ever desired in one motion, one moment.

 

Dean tightens his grip for the grand finale. “Come, baby,” his deep rumble settles over her like a mist of adoration and his eyes are calm but curious. “Come.” She croaks a final sound before she’s flying apart, out into the universe, shattered and ruined, decimated, complete – and she is no more.

 

##

 

Her body’s still warm. He wants to keep her that way as long as he can. Initially, he thought he’d dump the body, wipe down the hotel room and discard of any and all evidence. After all, the FBI still has him on file, even if they do believe that he’s no longer walking the planet. It was a knee-jerk reaction, really.

 

But that was before he knew just how perfect she’d be – just how hard and fast he’d fall for her. The plan he has now is a much better, much more complex one.

 

Dean combs his fingers through her soft waves, working out the snarls and luxuriating in the feel of her. He stretches out beside her and holds her close, scenting her skin and hair, carefully cataloging everything about her so that he’ll never forget.

 

When he hears birds chirping, heralding the rising sun, he kisses her one last time and reluctantly sets to work.

 

##

 

Dressed in his fed attire, Sam exits his rental car and walks into the crime scene. He takes a deep breath before entering the motel room, which is a flurry of the expected chaos. He flashes his badge a few times before he finds the detective who phoned him.

 

“Agent Page,” detective Morrow greets Sam. He looks exactly as Sam imagined – right down to the tired eyes and beer gut. “Thanks for coming.” He fills Sam in on the rape kit results – positive – and the fact that they have found no family of friends of the deceased.

 

“There are scars on her wrists, consistent with a past suicide attempt,” the detective explains.

 

Sam can’t stop staring at the girl, images of her and Dean, terrorizing his mind. Her throat's ripped open and she's nude. The way her body is positioned is obviously meant for Sam's torment. He tries to wrap his brain around how Dean could do this to a woman – demon or not – and he can’t. He shakes his head. “Kinky hook-up gone sideways?” he asks, hopeful.

 

“Not likely, considering the care he took to cleaning her up and positioning her in the bed,” the detective eyes Sam. “And no care at all to leaving empty beer and whiskey bottles lyin’ around. And your card.” Detective Morrow is silent, waiting for Sam’s response.

 

Sam sighs. “I know Dean Winchester- er, _knew_ ,” he stammers. “But he’s dead. This’s gotta be a mistake.” Sam prays it’s a mistake. But deep down, he knows it isn’t.

 

“No mistake, agent,” the detective answers. “Looks like your boy faked his death and escalated to killing of the serial variety.”

 

Sam answers questions as neutrally as possible, no implications left behind. He keeps looking at the beautiful, dead girl, her hair a halo around her, her hands crossed over her breastbone, like a saint – complete with a beatific smile even in death.

 

When the detective decides that Sam has nothing to offer the case, he asks if he can call him if anything else comes up. Sam agrees and the detective releases him.

 

On his way back to his car, his cell phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out and the caller ID tells him that he was right in guessing who it is.

 

“Hello,” Sam answers, glancing around the perimeter until he spots Dean two blocks down the road.

 

“Sammy,” Dean greets him cordially. “I see you met my girl. She’s somethin’ else, isn’t she?”

 

Sam feels bile rise in his throat and he swallows it down. “Dean, what…” he lowers his voices and scans his surroundings. “How could you?” It’s an inane question, but the only one he knows how to ask.

 

“Demon, Sammy,” Dean answers like it’s the most obvious thing. “Plus, she wanted it. She begged me for it – every nasty second.” Dean pauses for effect. “Sammy, she came _so hard_.”

 

Sam shudders and sneers. “I’m gonna find you,” he says, low and quiet.

 

“Oooh, then what?” Dean asks, a genuine smile in his voice. “Are we gonna go for a beer, pick up some chicks- oh, never mind, you’re not into that.” Dean rolls his eyes and laughs.

 

Sam steels himself. “I’m gonna find you,” he continues. “And cure you. This isn’t you.”

 

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Sammy,” Dean says, climbing into his car, waving to his brother. “This is me times a hundred. And I’m here to stay.” He pauses again before bringing Baby to a roar. “Lose my number, Sam.”

 

Before Sam can get his car out of the lot, Dean’s gone.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for being you, @Glass_Jacket.


End file.
